


Cat and Mouse

by hemo_goblin



Category: RWBY
Genre: Drugged Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Painful Sex, Paralysis, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29145795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemo_goblin/pseuds/hemo_goblin
Summary: Clover seems to be out of lucky breaks once he catches Tyrian's interest.
Relationships: Tyrian Callows/Clover Ebi
Kudos: 10





	Cat and Mouse

Clover Ebi was born lucky. Things always seemed to work out for him, one way or another. It was comforting, to have that sort of safety net he could rely on when things seemed to go south, he always knew he’d make it out in the end. So naturally, when he was assigned to investigate the strings of murders occurring in Mantle that implicated his general, he figured it wouldn’t be much of a challenge.

That was several weeks ago.

Each new lead he found only brought him to more dead ends. Again and again, just when he thought his luck was finally turning out, the trail would go cold. And with each day he spent on his wild goose chase, another body was added to the pile. Even though there were others on the case, Clover felt the weight of each corpse on his shoulders. He was _supposed_ to be protecting people, saving them… but because he couldn’t track down whatever sick bastard was doing this, he was _failing_ them.

He started working overtime on the case. Might as well, considering he couldn’t stop thinking about it, even in his free time. The leads he found started to feel like they were left there on _purpose_ , like they were too obvious to be missed by someone who was _clearly_ clever enough to evade justice for this long. After a while, the “clues” gave way to outright taunting. The killer was playing _games_ with him, leaving corpses in far more public places. When he’d found the next victim with “EBI” carved into their back, he felt his blood run cold and his stomach turn.

It continued to get more personal. Far too close for comfort. He began receiving cryptic texts from an untraceable number, describing details of previous crimes that were undisclosed to the public, even bodies the authorities had yet to find. And they were always written like they were having _fun_ with it all. Things only seemed to get worse, and Clover was left wondering where the _fuck_ that lucky break was.

And then they got into his room.

He only knew because they’d left him a little… “ _gift_ ” for him to find when he awoke. An eye. Resting atop his dresser. He felt sick again. They were _right there_ , in his room, going through his things and doing _brothers-know-what_ else while he was asleep mere feet away.

They could have killed him.

…… _Why didn’t they?_

His scroll had two messages when he checked. One, from the team of investigators in Mantle, reporting another body. _Missing an eye_. The other, from an unknown number. Clover felt a tightness in his throat, as if the dread itself had gotten a grip around his neck, but he opened the message regardless. He felt a chill shoot through him as he did.

It had an image attached.

An image… of himself. Asleep in his bed, a pale hand cupping his cheek gently.

“I came by earlier to keep my eye on you, but you look so peaceful when you’re sleeping~ I didn’t want to disturb you. Hope you enjoyed the gift, Clover.

More to come <3”

Cheeky bastard. If they didn’t want to disturb him, they wouldn’t have broken into his room, and they certainly wouldn’t have left a fucking _eye_ on his dresser. 

He didn’t want to believe the image was real. He didn’t want to believe _any_ of it was real, none of this was supposed to happen to him, he was supposed to be _safe_. It felt like his luck had run out. It filled him with a sense of terror and hopelessness, one he tried desperately to push to the back of his mind so he could continue to be the cool, casual, and charming leader his team needed him to be. The person Qrow liked being around.

But it kept him up at night. He couldn’t fall asleep, every time he closed his eyes he felt those pale hands creeping towards his face, saw eyes in every corner of his room. He decided it was best to use those sleepless nights productively, to put an end to this nightmare as soon as possible. He studied every little detail of the crimes, desperately searching for something he was missing, something that would finally put a _face_ to the shadow that seemed to follow him. He noted patterns; how deliberate the slashes were, clean and confident, the places on the body they favored, some evidence suggested the killer would linger at the scene of the crime, tampering with the body in some way or another. None of it got him any closer to an answer, it just made him feel like he was getting further into the sicko’s head without finding anything useful.

After more days of restless searching, he received another message while out on patrol.

He hated opening them. But he knew he had to. Even if they were mostly teasing, mostly _horrific_ , at times they contained valuable information. “ _Hints_ ,” The faceless shadow called them.

“It’s a lovely evening~ Quiet… _Tranquil_ , some would call it. I call it dull. I dislike sitting still, and I _detest_ being bored. You’re _boring_ me, Clover. Perhaps I should pay you another visit? Maybe that’s what you need, to put a little pep in your step.

I’ll see you tonight <3”

Another… _visit?_ Did they intend to sneak into his room again? Clover hastily stowed his scroll away, making his way back towards HQ in hopes of intercepting the criminal. It seemed like their obsession with their “game” had caused them to slip up, and he was _not_ about to let the only stroke of luck he’d seen in weeks regarding this case pass him by.

In his rush to make it back in time, he forgot an important lesson he’d learned in his investigation. They’re _clever_ , not so careless as to leave something so obvious behind. The thought that this may have been a _trap_ didn’t cross Clover’s mind until he felt a hand holding a rag covering the lower half of his face. Instinctively, he fought against his assailant’s grip, but they held him firm until he took a breath, and in an instant he felt his limbs grow heavy as he struggled to hold onto consciousness. The last thing he saw before it all went black was the hand that covered his face.

_Pale_.

* * *

Games of cat and mouse are particularly fun when the rodent believes itself a predator.

Tyrian had been stalking this prey for quite a while now, taking a certain joy in how he squirmed with each twist and turn the hunter added to his little rat maze. It was _serendipitous_ , coming across the fisherman. Not something he had planned for. He was keeping tabs on his obsession, the one that got away… but the way Clover’s brightness seemed to clear away some of Qrow’s gloom... _captivated_ Tyrian. He was always drawn to those that seemed to radiate light, he enjoyed snuffing out that spark and seeing how it dimmed the lives of those it shed its brightness on.

The little birdie’s apparent attachment to him was cause enough for Tyrian to take an interest, considering his dedication to tear every shred of joy the broken man clung to away from him, but the operative’s confident smile and bright eyes drew Tyrian in all on their own. That unfiltered light… it _sickened_ the scorpion, just a little bit. It was like the _sun_ , difficult to look at and overwhelmingly warm. But it was that sickly feeling that drew him in closer, he wanted to cast shade over the sunshine, see those pretty bright eyes darken with dread and terror. After seeing just how much comfort he brought to the people around him, Tyrian developed a fixation on tainting it all.

And taint it he did. He’d been having _oh-so-much_ fun tormenting the poor soldier boy, watching him toss and turn at night from outside his bedroom window, seeing that shimmer behind his eyes gradually replaced with tired bags beneath them, how the very color of his soul seemed to darken a few shades with the stress and anguish. It was _delicious_. But it was _crumbs_.

Tyrian was never one to be satisfied with crumbs, and _certainly_ didn’t like to keep himself so distant from his favorites. He grew tired of simply _watching_ the light fade, he wanted to plunge it into darkness with his own two hands. And so, he set a trap for his little mouse. He knew the huntsman was just desperate enough for an _end to it all_ to fall for it, and fall for it he did. Right into Tyrian’s arms. His skin felt warm, or perhaps Tyrian was simply too cold. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Clover was _his_ at last, no more waiting and watching. All that remained was the _doing_. That was his favorite part. The scorpion giggled quietly to himself, excitedly lifting the operative’s body up and slipping back into the shadows, carrying Clover off into the night.

* * *

Clover awoke with a start, his eyes snapping open as his body tensed to pull himself upright. The shock began to set in as he realized _he couldn’t move_. He couldn’t lift his head to look and see if he was restrained or paralyzed, but he didn’t feel anything holding him down. All he felt was the impossible weight of his own limbs, and… a _presence_ settled atop his waist. All at once, the source of that feeling popped into his field of view. A face. There was a man on top of him, straddling his hips.

His most notable features were his long, dark hair with unevenly cut bangs, and sharp golden eyes that seemed to glow in the dim light of… _wherever_ he found himself. The man smiled at him; a gentle, friendly thing, yet something about it was off-putting. Sinister. As Clover looked up at him, an imposing metallic tail with a barbed tip curled into view.

“Good morning, Sunshine~” The strange man purred, mere inches away from Clover’s face. He wanted to pull back, make some distance between them, but his body remained frustratingly still. “Sleep well?”

Clover wanted to reply. He wanted to demand answers, where he was, who the man is, what he wants. Nothing more than a choked breath came out.

“ _Ah_ , that’s right…” The stranger brought a hand to Clover’s face and rubbed his thumb over his cheek. He could feel the icy chill in the man’s touch. “At its strongest, the drug impairs your speech…”

So he was drugged, then. _Great_. That answered why he couldn’t move, but hardly helped him fix his situation. 

“Not to worry, dear Clover. I’m sure you’ll find your voice in due time. Until then, though… I suppose I’ll have to interpret. Let me guess: ‘Who are you? Where am I? What do you want from me? Let me go!’” The man’s voice took on a mocking tone as he asked the exact thoughts running through Clover’s mind, trailing off into a string of sadistic giggles. It left him wondering exactly how many times this person had kidnapped people like this. He decided not to dwell on it, he had far more pressing matters to concern himself with.

The look in Clover’s eyes was all Tyrian needed to know that his guesses were right on the money. _Cute_ , albeit a tad bit predictable. Of course, he was happy to explain, now that the two of them were face-to-face.

“I’m _hurt_! You don’t recognize an old friend~?" The faunus gasped in false shock, putting a hand to his chest and arching his tail behind him. "Although, it’s to be expected. After all, I saw _you_ , but you didn’t see _me_ …” With a sigh, he brought a hand to his own face. Clover’s eyes widened as he recognized that hand. _Pale_. They wore the same brown sleeves he’d seen in the photograph that kept him awake at night. He had wanted to know the shadow's face, but he didn’t ever want to see it up close. Not like this.

  
  


“My name is Tyrian, not that I expect a name to mean much to you. You’d know me better through my _actions_ , I’m sure~” He sounded almost _proud_ of himself. It gave Clover chills. “As for where you are… somewhere safe. Somewhere nobody will interrupt us.” The thought of being alone with a murderer with no hope of rescue made the operative feel _far_ from safe. Regardless, he listened closely to the clearly deranged man’s words, still hoping for answers that would make sense of this mess. Not like he had much of a choice in the matter.

“And all I want from you…” Tyrian leaned in close once more, pressing the tip of his nose against his captive’s. “...Is _you_.” He spoke those final words in a lower pitch, darker. Clover wasn’t sure what to make of that, or of the statement itself, but none of the ideas that came to mind were even _remotely_ pleasant.

Clover’s cyan eyes, still ever so _bright_ despite Tyrian’s best efforts, looked up at him with a hint of confusion. A wicked grin cracked across the hunter’s face, eager to provide an example. Without warning, he shot his hands to Clover’s throat, gripping it tightly. All Clover could do was stare wide-eyed at Tyrian as he was deprived of oxygen, panic mixing with disgust as he saw the delighted expression on the killer’s face. Tyrian tightened his grip, biting his lower lip as he gazed down at Clover, drinking in the raw _fear_ in those pretty eyes of his.

“That’s it… _That’s_ what I’m looking for,” Tyrian growled lasciviously through gritted teeth, his eyes wide, crazed, and dangerous as he strangled the man beneath him. “The look in your eyes, and the _dread_ in your heart… I want to see the light fade from you. Not in the quick and easy way, no… you’re far too _special_ for something so simple. I intend to take my sweet time with you, snuff out the spark inside you and leave only a husk behind.” His voice maintained that low rumble, as if his words were dirty talk rather than death threats. At least, that’s what Clover assumed they were. The maniac’s ramblings made less and less sense as his vision grew hazier. 

Right as his vision was about to fade entirely, the hands were withdrawn. Clover gasped a breath, pulling himself back from the brink of unconsciousness. His vision steadily returned to him, but the sight he was met with made him wish it hadn’t. Tyrian was gazing down at him with half-lidded eyes, licking his lips with an expression Clover hoped _dearly_ he was misinterpreting.

“Has anyone ever told you how _precious_ you look when you’re afraid, Sunshine?”

_Gross_. Of course they haven’t. Clover wanted to retort, but his words were still caught in his throat. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at Tyrian, hoping he could get the sentiment across with the disgust and animosity in his glare. It only seemed to please Tyrian more.

“Ohh, such _bitterness_ … You _hate_ me, don’t you?” The faunus leaned his body closer to Clover’s, tracing a chilly hand along the operative’s chest. “You lay awake at night thinking about me. You tried so _very_ hard to find me. And you hung on my every word.” There was an undeniable truth to the madman's remarks, but Clover _hated_ the way they were phrased. It twisted the intent behind his actions. “Mister Ebi, you certainly know how to make a man feel _wanted_ , don’t you?”

Shut up. The only kind of “wanted” he was, was wanted by the _law_. Clover wanted to spit in his face, wrench those frigid wandering hands off his body. But he remained still.

“You see, love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Both are rooted in passion, and _obsession_. That is why your hatred tastes so sweet. It tells me that I _mean_ something to you. You’re _obsessed_ with me, Clover, and I must say… _The feeling is mutual_ ,” The scorpion whispered into his prey’s ear in a tone that sent shivers down his spine.

_Sick_. He was fucking sick. Clover didn’t want to sit idly by and listen to the twisted philosophies of a psychopath, but he didn’t have a choice. He hated how Tyrian’s words wormed their way into Clover’s skull, how they tainted his good intentions. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because soon after the words were spoken, he felt a hand cupping his jaw and lips pressed against his own.

_Disgusting_. Repulsive. Clover shut his eyes to pretend none of it was happening, but it only made him focus on the feeling. He couldn’t block out the pleased sound Tyrian hummed into his mouth, he couldn’t clamp his lips shut to keep the killer’s tongue from slipping past them, and he couldn’t ignore the bitter taste it left on every corner of his mouth it probed. Tyrian leaned further into it, holding Clover’s head in both hands and pressing their bodies together, moaning wantonly against his lips.

Pulling away with a sly smirk and a breath for air, Tyrian looked into Clover’s eyes once again to bask in his contempt. Sure enough, their burning glare spoke louder than any words could have ever hoped to. He already found himself _very_ glad he’d decided to do this. And they hadn’t even gotten started yet. Just to disgust him further, and rub the fact that he was completely helpless in his face, Tyrian licked a stripe up the side of Clover’s face. Slowly.

“Mmmmh, that look in your eyes is _dangerous_ , darling. I like it. But I think we can do a little better than that,” The scorpion remarked ominously before leaning back and out of Clover’s sight. The captive dreaded finding out what exactly that meant. It became all too clear once Tyrian popped back into view, brandishing a knife. He had expected something along those lines, but was hoping to be pleasantly proven wrong. After all, he was still waiting for that turn of good luck. He started to feel like it wasn’t coming.

“A _lovely_ thing, isn’t she?” The killer mused, turning the weapon over in his hand thoughtfully. “I have weapons for combat, of course, but… circumstances such as these call for a bit more _precision_.” The emphasis on his word was paired with a press of the blade into Clover’s left cheek, slowly dragging down towards his lips. It stung, and was deep enough to draw blood, but Clover had been through far worse. He didn’t like the way Tyrian’s eyes dilated at the sight of blood, or how his knitted brow and bitten lip curling into a smile denoted that he was taking pleasure from this. The knife was pulled away, and the faunus paused briefly to admire the vibrant rubies against Clover’s flesh.

“So _pretty_ …” He muttered, almost lovingly. Leaning his head back down towards Clover’s, he brought that vile tongue back to his face, licking the blood from his wound. It almost made the operative wish the man would just torture him, or kill him, and get it over with, instead of being so insufferably _creepy_ about it.

“Well then,” Tyrian remarked, setting the knife aside for the moment and shifting back to his usual, somewhat performative tone. It was slightly preferable to the lower, huskier voice, if only because it was less disturbingly lustful. “Shall we get started? Let’s get this pesky uniform out of the way, first~” 

He had barely finished his statement before his hands were unfastening Clover’s shirt and prying it off of his body. The outer layer was simple enough, opening in the front, but the cloth undershirt had no buttons or zippers. Tyrian easily could have lifted Clover into an upright position to pull it off as intended, but he seemed to have other plans in mind. With a wicked grin, the hunter grabbed the knife and sliced the shirt open down the front, tearing the sleeves open to remove the garment entirely with a giddy chuckle. The grey fabric fisted in his grip, Tyrian brought it to his face and took an unsettlingly long and audible inhale before passing it off to his tail, which promptly flung it to some unseen corner of the room.

“As I suspected, it smells far better when it’s fresh off your body~” The faunus’ voice returned to that lecherous tone as he brought his face back towards Clover’s neck, this time to kiss and suck and bite at the flesh. It felt so… _wrong_ , coming from him. The huntsman tried to close his eyes and imagine it was someone else, but the scent of Tyrian so close to him and the contented hums made into his flesh made it impossible to forget. His attention was soon drawn elsewhere, however, as a searing pain carved across his chest. He couldn’t see, but he felt Tyrian’s lips pull into another grin against his neck. His mouth shot open from the pain, but no sound came out. The scorpion let out another chuckle, pulling back to look Clover in the eyes once again and drink in the pain he found there. Clover wasn’t sure which was worse; the sting, or Tyrian’s hips rolling against his own as he dragged the knife along his skin.

“ _Mmmmh~_ ” His captor moaned, “Those eyes of yours wear agony so well… Maybe I should keep them…” He contemplated, bringing the knife mere inches away from Clover’s eye and tapping his chin in genuine consideration. “Hmmm… _No_. They look better in your head. They’d lose their luster in a jar. _Shame_... Perhaps it won’t matter, once the light has left them, though…” Clover tried not to think about the implication that Tyrian was speaking from experience. It was difficult to do so, with a blade pointing directly at his eyeball. He thought about the gift on his dresser, and felt his blood run cold with terror.

“ _Ah_! So pretty! So, so pretty, full of fear like that~ I’d miss it if I took them from you. Very well, Bright Eyes; I’ll leave them be for now,” Tyrian cooed, so jarringly upbeat compared to the gruesome intent. The hand wielding the knife traveled to Clover’s chest again, and he braced himself as best as he could.

The next slice was deeper than the last, made even more unbearable when it intersected with the previous one. Clover wanted to scream, to pull away, to fight it, _anything_ , but his body still refused to move. He felt the flat end of the knife drag across the lacerations, smearing his blood across his chest. And then he felt the tongue again. Tyrian sat back on his haunches to admire the wounds, licking the remnants of blood off his lips.

“You bleed so nicely for me, Sunshine… Would you like to see?”

Without waiting for an answer, the faunus slid a hand around Clover’s back and propped him into an upright seated position, his head limply facing downwards towards his stomach. He watched as the movement ushered more blood to spill out of the cuts that crossed his chest.

“You look absolutely _stunning_ in red, my dear… and look!” Tyrian grabbed the hair on the back of Clover’s head to tilt his view upwards towards him, gesturing towards his own scarred chest excitedly with the bloody knife in his hand. “We match! Now you’ll always have a little piece of me with you, always and forever… _isn’t that sweet~?_ ”

The thought made Clover sick. That he would never be able to forget this, that he would be reminded of this feeling every time he looked in the mirror and saw those goddamn scars. Tyrian tilted his wrist while gripping his captive’s hair, puppeting his head into a nodding gesture.

“Oh, I’m so _glad_ you agree! Although… we don’t truly match just yet... “ The killer let Clover’s head fall limp again, facing back downwards at his wounds. He felt that cold anxiousness in him again as the knife drew closer to his abdomen. Tyrian pressed the tip of it teasingly into his flesh, leaving Clover in cruel suspense, not knowing when he was going to-

_Slice._

He watched in horror as the blade carved into him, how his skin split apart and seeped with blood. This one was deep enough for him to see the layers of tissue. He didn’t want to see it. He couldn’t turn his head away. He felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Tyrian laid him back down on his back, the movement bringing an agonizing sting back to the cuts. Within moments, those sharp gold eyes were inches away from his face again.

A tear rolled down Clover’s cheek. 

Tyrian _smiled_.

“Awwww… poor thing~” Tyrian cooed in that same mocking cadence as before. “Does it _huurt~?_ ” A sadistic cackle spilled out of him as he traced his fingertips over the fresh wound, digging into it slightly. He stared deeply into Clover's eyes while doing so, savoring the way those pretty little turquoise lights turned paler and shimmered weakly from the liquid misery they leaked, trailing little streaks across his cheeks. The tear from the left eye dribbled down into the small cut on his face. Tyrian licked it, then followed suit on the other cheek for good measure.

Clover could feel every trail of spit Tyrian left on his face as they dried on his skin, as if to bake themselves into his flesh to never wash out. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about or look at or feel _any_ of it, he tried to just block it all out, push past it, get through it until it’s over. It’ll end. Maybe he’ll die, or _maybe_ , he’ll _finally_ get fucking _lucky_ and make it out alive. Either way, it had to end. He tried to hide inside his mind, ignore all external stimuli. He hoped he would black out from the pain.

That vacant look in his eyes as he tried to disconnect from reality was exactly what Tyrian wanted. Washing out the Sunshine. He let out a satisfied hum at the thought of Clover’s brain must have been splitting from the inside... He wasn’t quite finished yet, though.

“Your tears taste so sweet, Precious… Here- let me kiss it better~” The faunus purred, shifting his body atop Clover to position his head closer to the gash in the other’s stomach.

As he pressed a gentle kiss to the torn flesh, one of his hands reached out and pawed softly between Clover’s legs. The sensation pulled the captive from his self-induced trance, too painfully aware of what was around him, what was happening, just how much _worse_ it was likely to get. And yet, after all the pain, the operative found the… _molesting_ … a preferable form of torture. It didn’t hurt as much. It… felt _good_. _Shit_. He wasn’t sure if he _liked_ that it felt good. He liked that it didn’t feel _bad_ , but… He didn’t want this.

Tyrian continued to mouth at the injury and grope at Clover’s crotch, chuckling quietly as he dismounted the huntsman and began working his pants off off his immobile body. He seemed eager, his own clothed hips rocking against the table Clover was laid on while he stripped the man down. His face quickly found its way between his prey’s legs again, only a thin layer of underwear between them. He pressed his nose into the huntsman’s bulge, taking in another deep breath that he exhaled with a pleased groan. Musky and raw. Warm flesh. 

If Clover could wince, he would have. This man was… _vile_. Still, he felt his breath hitch when Tyrian pulled his underwear down his legs and he felt his slowly hardening length spring free a little. He couldn’t believe he was even _remotely_ hard, and he hated that he felt his cock twitch when Tyrian pressed his lips to the soft flesh. The pleasure that surged through his nerves when the man licked at his shaft, sucked and tongued at the tip and fondled his balls made him almost thankful that he couldn’t make a sound. 

Tyrian muffled low moans against Clover’s cock as he shifted a hand between his own legs. He got hard from all of this some time ago, and made quick work of his pants. He returned to his favorite spot, straddled over Clover’s hips atop the table, and began grinding his bare erection against his captive’s. 

The scorpion let out a delighted mewl, reaching down to hold the two of them together while he thrusted, before whining and shifting their positions very abruptly. All at once, Tyrian’s cock was suddenly directly in front of Clover’s face. The huntsman flushed, embarrassed by the display, the implication of what was soon to come, and the fact that the natural but strong scent seemed to be pumping blood into his own erection. The faunus slipped his fingers inside Clover’s mouth, prying it open before sliding his length inside. The way Tyrian was positioned on top of him, Clover’s mouth was in the perfect place for Tyrian to be able to thrust down into his throat. Choked, gagging sounds were muffled by the cock that rammed itself deeper inside.

“Ohh, _Clover~_ ” The killer moaned lewdly as he fucked the other’s face relentlessly, “Your mouth feels amazing… S-so good… You’re so good for me,” He babbled breathy words of praise that did little to make Clover any more satisfied or comfortable with his position. 

The hunter panted rapidly in time with his thrusts, lost in the euphoria of Clover’s soft, yielding mouth… Through the haze, the operative heard Tyrian’s cacophony of moans and growls and giggles, although he tried to simply let the rhythmic pounding of hips into his face knock him into some sort of trance. It didn’t work, as he was too busy choking to space out. It ended after a while, albeit not out of mercy, as was evident by the frantic shallow thrusting followed by a hissing groan and a liquid heat spilling down his throat. He had no choice but to let the man’s filth all the way down into his stomach, where he could feel it sit like indigestion.

Tyrian pulled out of Clover’s mouth with a breathy grunt, taking a moment to catch his breath before hungrily pulling his plaything’s face to his own for another messy kiss. He could taste himself inside Clover’s mouth. It pleased him.

_“Good boy,”_ The scorpion cooed, stroking a hand through Clover’s hair. He once again adjusted his hips, resting them just above the other’s… His gaze was fixed on the deep slash in Clover’s torso, still seeping blood. Clover, immobile as he was, couldn’t see Tyrian’s face to figure out what he was thinking, but the thought was heard loud and clear the moment he felt a warm, wet, blunt presence slide against his injury.

Oh no.

Oh, _fuck_ no.

Tyrian held his cock in position as he pushed his hips forward, attempting to force the skin further apart to accommodate his girth. Though it tore and bled, it didn’t come apart enough to allow him entry. However, just the warm flesh, the wetness, and the sight of blood on his dick was _delightful_. It almost made him completely hard again, just like that. 

It was a searing agony. Clover felt the tender skin of his stomach be forced to rip further open as the insatiable monster tried to _fuck his open wound._ The very _idea_ of it was enough to make him feel like retching, let alone the sensation.

A somewhat frustrated growl slipped through Tyrian’s teeth as the wound continued to provide no give, no entry.

“I suppose we’ll have to save that for something deeper, or wider, then… Too bad.” The hunter sounded genuinely disappointed. Clover was unsure whether to be relieved, or dread the possibility of sustaining a new injury for the man to try to violate. “Ah! But where are my manners? I’ve been neglecting something very important, haven’t I?” The killer asked with a sickly sweet smile, hand reaching between Clover’s legs again and wrapping around his shaft.

It was disgusting, and repulsive, and he hated every second of it, and he once again found himself almost thankful for the paralysis preventing him from bucking up into the touch. It was such a welcome relief from the pain, even sweeter once Tyrian replaced his hands with his mouth. _Gods_ , that freak could do such unreal things with his tongue. It was downright _unfair_ , for something so pleasant to be attached to a man so fucking _wretched_. It built a familiar warmth in him, one that Tyrian was skillfully bringing closer to its apex, until-

The unmistakable wet sound of a blade sinking deep into flesh. White-hot, blinding pain that ripped a _scream_ out of Clover so raw, it tore his throat and pushed past the influence of the drugs in his system. He screamed until he ran out of breath, and fell into panicked and labored breathing.

“ _There_ he is! What a beautiful sound! Such a lovely voice you have, I’m so glad you found it again, my Little Light~” Tyrian sounded positively delighted by the sound of Clover's anguish. He needed the paralytic drug to make sure he could keep his hands free, but he _did_ prefer to be able to hear all the sounds he could pull out of a person. His gaze turned away from Clover’s eyes, pale with mortal agony, just for a moment, to look down between his captive’s legs. A surprised little smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “ _Oh-!_ Looks like you still made a little mess though, hm?”

Tyrian propped Clover up again so he could look down at himself to see the knife buried nearly to the hilt in his thigh, dribbling blood slowly due to the blockage, and… his cock leaking cum weakly. The pain was so overwhelming, Clover hadn’t even noticed he’d came, nor did he get the chance to enjoy it whatsoever. Not that he would _ever_ enjoy it. Not here. Not with _him_. The pain was too much, he felt half-conscious, the edges of his senses fading into whiteness. His eyes lost focus, staring blankly at nothing as he gasped and hissed.

_Goddess_ , it was so fucking gorgeous. The blood, the feeling of driving a blade into flesh, the _scream_ , that _beautiful_ scream… like a spring of fresh water after a drought. Tyrian wanted desperately to yank the knife out, watch the blood pour from the wound like sacred wine and coat his hands in it… but there was a very real risk that Clover could bleed out too early if he did that. So he waited. However, nothing was stopping him from having a little _fun_ with it…

Clover stared back at those amber eyes that peered into his soul. Always staring directly at him. Always _sharp_ , so sharp, he could feel the gaze cutting into him, or perhaps he simply _thought_ he could because the stare was always accompanied with blades and pain. This time was no different, as out of Clover’s view the scorpion took hold of the knife’s hilt and gently pressed it further into the other’s leg.

The operative’s throat was hoarse from the scream, and sounds hurt to make, but after being forced into silence for so long and already being in so much pain, he didn’t care. Anguished groans fell out of him regardless, and Tyrian drank them in as if they sustained him. He craved _more_ , twisted the knife in his grip in hopes of squeezing a few more tearful cries from the man. Clover looked so, so _beautiful_ when he was breaking, the hunter dearly wanted to push it as far as he possibly could.

The broken man let out a choked sob, having fully lost any composure or dignity he might have had when all this started. He was covered in blood and sweat and spit and cum; exposed, vulnerable, and violated in every way he thought imaginable. All of it was just _too much_ , and he didn’t care enough to hold back the tears and whimpers anymore.

Tyrian relished in it, bearing a grin that showed far too many teeth, still staring deep into the dimming light in those seafoam eyes. He was a bit distracted by the sight of the blood pooling out around the knife, though, and he found his attention split between the two spots. What a _wonderful_ predicament, to be so surrounded by art that one can’t fit it all in view…

“Oh, you poor, pretty little thing…” The scorpion cooed, leaning forward over Clover’s body to speak lowly in his ear again. “Does that _sting?”_ He teased with a cruel chuckle.

Clover forced his vocal cords to function, through the sobs and raw pain.

“F… Y… o..”

“Hm? What was that? I can’t hear you when you _whimper_.”

_Bastard_. There was far more he wanted to say to him, but each word caused more strain in his throat, so just the two would have to be enough for the time being.

“Fuck… Yo.. u…”

_Burn in hell._ Die a thousand deaths. Suffer and choke, die in agony. All things he wanted to say. Amongst the shattered pieces of his ego, dignity, and consciousness, the one thing that remained strong throughout was his hate. Clover _despised_ this man, the sick bastard that tormented him for so many sleepless weeks, murdered innocent people the operative couldn’t save, tortured and raped him, left scars on his body and soul that would never heal. He wanted Tyrian to _pay_ for what he did, he wanted to see him hurt and _break_ the same way he had hurt and broken Clover. It was a _burning_ , _powerful_ feeling…

Oh, _Gods_ , that’s exactly what the psychopath wanted.

Tyrian smirked, seeing that dark fire in Clover’s eyes and admiring how much it must have hurt him just to get those words out. The torture was tinder, fuel for that flame that would burn him from the inside and consume him whole. It was the only light he saw left in those eyes. A tainted, malicious thing… Beautiful and dangerous. As for the words the man said, it was funny to him that he would mention that…

“If you insist~” He replied with that dreadful crooked smile.

Clover’s blood ran cold when he felt the tip of Tyrian’s cock against his ass. The idea of the man penetrating him _at all_ was unsavory, but _dry?_ He wasn’t even sure if it was _possible_ , but he dreaded knowing that Tyrian would be inclined to try forcing it in anyways. 

The faunus wouldn’t mind a little uncomfortable tightness, he was something of a masochist himself, but his victim’s ass refused to give whatsoever when he pressed into it. No matter. He came prepared for this. With a growl, he pulled away from Clover’s body for a moment, and the sudden absence filled the huntsman with equal parts of relief and fear. He was back in a few moments, though, standing at his captive’s side and running a hand over his freshly-scarred chest upwards, cupping Clover’s cheek and wiping at a tear with this thumb. The look in his eyes was almost _soft_ , but it filled Clover with so much unease, almost moreso than the sharp, crazed stare.

“You’re so _tense_ , darling… Seems like you could use a little _encouragement_.” Tyrian crooned, moving the hand on Clover’s face to tilt his head to the side. Clover caught a glimpse of a needle in the man’s free hand, and within moments felt a small prick followed by a rush of warmth through his system. More drugs, presumably. But… he was still paralyzed, so they couldn’t be for the same purpose… 

“Give it a moment, it’ll make things a little easier for you. I didn’t have to do that, you know. You’re lucky I like you.” Tyrian offered a vague explanation that made Clover roll his eyes. 

If _that_ was how his luck was going to manifest, it felt like a cruel joke. Whatever the drugs were going to do to him, he doubted it was going to put an end to this, so he hardly felt it suitable to call it “lucky.” Still, when he felt the first wave of _heat_ pulse through his body, he got a pretty damn good idea of what Tyrian’s cryptic words were implying. His breath hitched, and the man above him gave him that fucking _look_ again. That thin, wicked smile. He wanted to knock those teeth out, give him something to stop smiling about. He wanted… the haze of pain and induced arousal made it difficult to finish the thought. He wanted… _touch_... Shit, _no_ , that’s not… His head was spinning, he was so full of pain and hate and despair and _heat_ , it felt like he was drowning.

Tyrian’s hands on his body were the only thing that felt clear, the only thing that broke through the fog. They were gentle, gliding over his body in a way that sent sparks through his nerves. A hoarse whimper fell out of him reflexively.

The faunus immediately decided that he had made the right choice in giving him the aphrodisiac. Sure, it meant he wouldn’t be quite as tight, but if he could pull more sweet, pathetic little sounds like _that_ out of the man, then it was _absolutely_ worth it. He slid his hand down Clover’s torso, tracing over the deep red marks along the way, until he reached the spot between his captive’s legs again. He delicately ran a finger along Clover’s shaft, delighting in how it pulsed with heat and pulled a gasp from the huntsman.

The lightest little touches felt _insanely_ good. Clover had just the tiniest bit of presence of mind remaining to know that he shouldn’t admit that, he should keep the sounds in, not give Tyrian the satisfaction, but it was just such a relief to have something in his senses other than burning pain, he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. The gold sharpness entered his vision again. _Staring_. He hardly even noticed it. He was looking, but he was no longer _seeing_.

“So _pretty_ when they’re vacant, Bright Eyes… You’re being such a good boy for me, I think you’ve earned a little reward,” Tyrian purred, stroking Clover’s cock a few times and sending fireworks through his veins before removing his hand.

And Clover was lost in the ocean once again. Stuck in his head, a sea of mixed feelings amplified by the cocktail of drugs wreaking havoc on his system. But only for a moment. Wet fingers pressed against his hole, and entered him with a surprising amount of ease. It forced a shaky whine out of him as the intrusion probed deeper, sliding in and out of him and working him open. A small part of him felt so _violated_ , but it was drowned out by the overwhelming pleasure. But it ceased in a few moments.

“Alright,” Tyrian growled, removing his fingers and pulling Clover’s legs upwards, positioning himself against his plaything’s ass. “I’m tired of waiting.”  
  
The killer had mercifully provided a meager amount of lube, but not nearly enough for the penetration to be smooth. He made sure of it. As he pressed his cock inside, the tightness and resistance caused him to let out a delighted, somewhat pained hiss. _Finally_ , he was inside. After so much waiting and watching, he had closed the distance, touched the Sunshine, tore it out of the sky and shattered it into so many beautiful pieces. It was euphoric simply knowing how thoroughly he’d _defiled_ Clover, how a piece of him would exist inside the man forever, and how it would torment him for just as long, but the feeling of his underprepared ass gripping his length so tightly, so sweetly? It was _holy_.

“Ghhh,” The scorpion groaned as he forced his way inside. “ _Fffuck_ , yes… You’re so nice and tight for me, Precious… So _perfect_ …”

The sting of his ass being stretched further than he’d been prepared for was equally present in Clover’s mind as the pleasure of being penetrated. The drugs didn’t drown out the hurt, and the pain was a constant reminder of where he was, what was happening, the devil that was inside him. But despite it, and despite his wishes, it felt _good_. As Tyrian’s cock pressed deeper inside, the burn had a pleasing edge to it, one that only grew stronger as he continued to rock his hips and force Clover open. Soon, the faunus found a rhythm, and began slamming into the man in earnest. Each thrust sent waves of hot desire through Clover’s body, he could feel his fully hardened cock bounce from the force, tapping against his stomach and leaving a wet spot from the precum dripping from the tip.

Clover made quite the sight like that. He looked so entirely out of it, eyes glazed over, mouth lolled open and letting out strings of needy, desperate, and strained little whimpers, body broken and bloody, fully erect and leaking all over himself… Tyrian felt his mouth watering. All of it was so perfect, so _delicious_ , saliva pooled in his mouth and began to drip down onto Clover as he switched back and forth between open-mouthed panting and growling through gritted teeth, savagely fucking the man like a rabid animal. He nails dug into the skin on Clover’s legs, clawing marks into his flesh. Enough to make the skin red and angry, but not enough to bleed. _More_ … he wanted more _blood_. His eyes snapped to the knife buried in his victim’s thigh.

Now or never.

In one fluid motion, he _yanked_ the blade from where it was embedded in the man’s leg, pulled himself out, and flipped his plaything over onto his stomach. Another pained scream tore through the operative, long and ragged, as he was repositioned in a manner more to Tyrian’s liking; bent over the table he was previously laid upon, legs spread apart. The scorpion wasted no time in shoving himself back into the man, picking up right where he left off and pounding into Clover from behind.

Blood gushed out of the hole in Clover’s leg and trailed down his calf onto the floor. So much _blood_ … Tyrian hungrily licked it off the blade and gripped the bloody thigh in his other hand, for stability, to slow the bleeding, and simply because he wanted to _touch_ it. Below him, his victim was sobbing again, such an adorably _pathetic_ sound that caused the hunter to let out a pleased rumble, roughly bucking his hips into the poor bastard. Looking down, Tyrian was met with such a lovely expanse of blank, unmarked flesh. Not skipping a beat in his thrusts, he traced the knife lightly across the man’s back.

No, no, no, no… Not more… Clover couldn’t take any more, it was going to kill him. He was going to die here. He didn’t want to think about it ending like that, about nobody finding his body, about nobody rescuing him. He didn’t have anywhere to go, his body was too full of hurt and his mind was too full of fear, nowhere to escape, nowhere to hide. Tyrian had driven himself deep inside any safe haven Clover may have had, desecrating any sanctuary he could have found and leaving only the desolate pieces of his broken body and mind behind.

There was another burning sting as the man that would surely be the death of him dragged the blade across his back. Lighter than the other cuts, although he couldn’t say mercifully so. He could feel the heat of blood pooling to the surface. It was like a fever; his body felt so many different types of hot and so many different manners of cold, all at once. He was pretty sure he was going to black out from blood loss. And yet the penetration ramming against his prostate had him seeing stars, a warmth that spread throughout his body and settled in his stomach, making him painfully aware of just how hard he still was.

Tyrian continued to slice. Gently, or at least gentle by his standards, knowing he was dangerously close to the threshold of outright killing his captive. Not that it would have stopped him from finishing, but the purpose of this was to kill his _spirit_ , not his body. That thought remained in the back of his mind, keeping him from doing anything _too_ drastic, but at the forefront, there was that ravenous _hunger_. More _blood_ , beautiful, warm, delectable blood. With each cut, each jolt of pain he gave to Clover, he could feel the man’s body tighten around him in a manner that was so _incredibly_ pleasing. He was getting close, all of it was so deliriously _euphoric_ , the thrust of his hips grew more frantic and rapid, pulling painful moans from the huntsman that he answered with his own obscene, filthy sounds. 

“ _Mmmh_ , you like that? You want more? Take it… take it _all_... “ Tyrian growled between breathy chuckles. He set the knife down, leaning forward to bury his face in Clover’s neck and bite and suck at the flesh there as well as snake a hand around to grip his neglected cock and pump it vigorously.

The amplified pleasure was too much, the aggressive pounding in his ass paired with the hand working magic on his shaft, the low and lustful voice in his ear, no matter who it may have been, all of it was quickly pushing Clover dangerously close to the edge. A thought in the back of his clouded mind had him afraid that Tyrian would only use that to hurt him again, but still he desperately chased the pleasure in hopes that he could reach it. The crazed faunus’ husky voice continued to mutter almost incoherently in his ear.

“Mine… you’re all mine… Now and forever, you’re fucking _mine_ … I claimed you, marked you, filled and covered you with my filth… Nobody else would want you… But me, _I_ want you so, _so_ badly… So _terribly_ … You’re always beautiful to me, so _perfect_ … Even when you’re filthy and bloody and broken, you’re so perfect and gorgeous and _mine_ …” Tyrian’s voice was shaky as he drew closer to his own end. He nibbled on the shell of Clover’s ear, squeezing the man’s shaft tightly.

“Sing for me, Sunshine.”

With another snap of Tyrian’s hips reaching that spot inside of Clover, the operative was pushed past the tipping point, a blindingly powerful orgasm rushing through his body, tensing around the faunus and pulling a shocked and utterly _sinful_ moan from his ravaged throat. His cock pulsed in the other’s firm grip, shooting ropes of cum against the edge of the table he was splayed over.

The clenching grip from Clover’s climax is what finally did it for Tyrian. With a raspy, “Fuck, _Clover~_ ” he drove himself as deep as he could reach and pumped his load inside of the spent huntsman. He stayed there for a moment, panting and pressing kisses to the marks he’d left on the other’s neck and back. It was almost… _intimate_. Were it not for the fact that he’d done so after drugging, kidnapping, torturing, and raping the man. 

There wasn’t love here. At least, not for Clover. The operative still wasn’t sure what the exact nature of the scorpion’s twisted obsessions were, but he prayed the sicko wasn’t in _love_ with him. After catching his breath, Tyrian pulled out, turning Clover back over to look at his face yet again.

The eyes he was met with were cold. Distant. Gone was that glow of warmth that blinded him, all that was left was misery and bitter hatred. Tyrian smiled, and admired the rest of his handiwork by running his hands softly along Clover’s body once more. He rubbed his face along the wounds, pressed kisses into them. It was still too tender for the victim’s liking… too _loving_. In the wake of all the agony, it made his stomach churn.

He was _exhausted_. The sex took all that he had left out of him. Clover felt his grip on consciousness slipping by the second, and the soothing, albeit cold, gentle touches weren’t doing him any favors in keeping him awake. Through the haze, he faintly heard Tyrian’s voice.

“Aww… looks like someone’s tuckered out. You’ve been so very well-behaved for me, you’ve earned your rest, darling. _Sleep_ …”

Clover wasn’t sure what would happen if he fell asleep, but he didn’t think it could possibly be any worse than being awake through all of what’s happened. Though the words were laced with omens, he was unable to resist the temptation of slipping under due to exhaustion and blood loss.

“Sweet dreams, Bright Eyes~”

And then darkness.

* * *

Even ruined as he was, Clover still looked so _peaceful_ when he was asleep. So sweet, Tyrian thought, how cute that the _fisherman_ would be such a _catch_ himself. The faunus was glad he’d staked his claim. He’d sown his seed of hate inside the pure soul, now all that was left to do was make sure the operative lived long enough to water and feed it, to let it grow and take root, to let it taint and consume him… Tyrian’s hands were shaky from the anticipation, but they still continued to wrap gauze around the deep wound in the sleeping man’s leg. He wouldn’t bother with the other injuries, he wanted them to bleed and hurt, but if he didn’t do anything to at least _slow_ the bleeding on that one, he was a bit worried the poor thing would bleed out. That wouldn’t be a very fitting ending to all of this…

He pressed a kiss to the wrapped injury.

“A token of my affection… carry it with you always~” He murmured, resting his head against the scarred thigh. After a brief pause, Tyrian hoisted Clover’s slumbering body onto his back, holding his tail tightly around it for added support. He’d already clothed the man, at least partially. He’d be keeping the scrapped undershirt. After carrying Clover to somewhere a little more… public, he placed the limp body on the ground, propped upright. He squatted to the seated body’s eye level.

“I suppose this is goodbye for now, my Little Light…” Tyrian spoke softly to the man who could not hear him. “See you in your nightmares~”  
  
With one final lick up Clover’s cheek, the faunus sprung to his feet, turned around and walked away. 

  
  


* * *

Clover jolted awake. With his entire body. He could _move_ , he was awake, and he was _cold_. Not to mention, as soon as he tensed his body, he was met with a burning pain. Recollection of what happened to him came in floods, but with Tyrian out of sight and his movement restored, he tried to keep his wits about him and focus on getting to safety.

The first step was figuring out where he was… In the _snow_ , for starters. He was propped against… what must have been the outer wall of Mantle. 

Well, that gave him zero clues pointing towards where he may have been _before_ he fell asleep, and subsequently zero leads on where that elusive freak _went_. But he would have time to unpack all that after he was out of the cold. Hopefully with some medical treatment… The operative reached into his pocket, relieved to find his scroll stowed away. He opened up his comms immediately.

“Ebi reporting,” Clover spoke as strongly as he could with his throat still shot. “Requesting med-evac. Sending coordinates.” With a few taps on the touch interface, he dropped his arm to his side and waited. 

He could see blood leaking through the wrap on his leg… His leg was _wrapped_? That’s right… Tyrian must have clothed him, too? Why does he want Clover alive? Why hasn’t he been killed yet, when the man he’s trying to arrest has had _so many_ opportunities? Whatever the reason, the huntsman wanted to make it the last mistake of that creep’s miserable life. He just needed to figure out _how_. He finally had a face for the shadow, but it didn’t bring him any closer to tracking him down. All it did for him was give his nightmares a name. One he would have to search their databases for later…

The scorpion’s words echoed in his ears… the vengeance, the _obsession_ … it’s what Tyrian wanted from him. But that just made him hate the motherfucker even more. Hated that he ended up part of this deranged lunatic’s twisted little hate-fantasies.

At the very least, he was alive.

After such a harrowing encounter with a man that killed so many others, he should have considered himself lucky.

But where he was, bleeding out in the snow from the scars carved into his body, exhausted and violated and nowhere closer to bringing the man who did it to justice?

  
He didn’t _feel_ lucky.

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine if Clover had a reason for saying "You're not the only one with a grudge."


End file.
